TAMAH Alternatives
by Svendances
Summary: Ever wonder what would have happened if things hadn't worked out the way they did in Twice as Much as Half? Here's your chance to find out. A series of short scenes based on my recently finished fanfic Twice as Much as Half. Contains Crack.
1. A Maury Povich Moment

Ever wonder what would have happened if an author did something differently in their story? Well, here is the first in a series of alternative scenes and situations based on Twice as Much as Half. This particular ending I did seriously consider using as the actual ending of the story, but figured if I did so I'd be shot. I shared the idea with my bestie (Shreek) and she convinced me that I had to write it as an alternative ending. We then went on to think of different things I could have done with the story. And so, this little mini series was born. As always, updates will be sporadic and based purely on the amount of assessment I have at the time.

**Alternative Ending #1: A Maury Povich Moment**

_I used to fantasise about being a normal kid. It was all prompted by the beginning of my school career when I realised that my situation wasn't normal. In my dreams I'd have a mother who was a housewife and a father who worked in a local factory and they both loved and adored me and each other very much. In the evenings Mom would make pot roast or meat loaf and we'd all sit down to eat as a family at exactly six o'clock without fail. The family dog would greet me at the door with face licks when I arrived home from school each day and sleep across my feet at night. Mom taught me to cook and sew and we would have tea parties in the living room with all my dolls as guest. Dad would take me to the park on weekends and help me climb the monkey bars even though Mom said I was too little. When it stormed we'd sit together in the kitchen playing board games by candle light and when I had nightmare I would crawl between them in their big comfy bed and they would wrap their arms around me until I fell asleep again, whispering words of love and comfort._

_The reality of my situation is that my father is a homicide detective with the Trenton Police Department and my father is the owner of a security company named Rangeman. Yes, I have two fathers and they're complete opposites. Dad (the detective) was a strictly by the books kind of guy, he was all rules and regulations and you can't do that it's illegal. Papa, on the other hand, encourages me to try new things all the time, like last year when he introduced me to marijuana as a try-it-at-home-and-they'll-be-less-likely-to-try-it-outside-and-get-in-trouble kind of manoeuvre. Sometimes I think he does these things just to get on Dad's nerves, other times I think that they've just always been under each other's skin anyway and there wasn't a lot either one of them could do about it. After all, old habits die hard._

_There is one thing we all agree on, though. Mama was never going to find out about the marijuana._

_Up until recently, Mama finding out about anything that Papa or Dad do with me wasn't even a plausible option, since she was... well, she was dead to us, at least we thought she was dead. But a few of weeks ago we found out that she wasn't (dead, that is) and everything pretty much turned upside down from there._

_As you can imagine, the living arrangements of my ever growing patchwork family are now more complicated than ever. We all (by which I mean, the adults) decided before Papa was even released from hospital that for the time being at least I should continue to stay with him in his seventh floor apartment. This was for a number of reasons. First, all my stuff was there and they didn't feel that uprooting my entire existence mid-term was a wise idea, especially with how easily I lose and forget things when they're not in plain sight. Second, Mama and Ella thought Papa needed someone to keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn't overdoing it in his own home. That was my job each morning and evening during the week. To make sure Papa was taking the appropriate amount of rest. Tank would keep an eye on him during the work day, because Papa insisted that he immediately immerse himself back in the business the moment he was allowed to go home. We allowed him to only because it was in the same building he lived in, otherwise I think there would have been a lot more protesting. _

_Weekends I spend with Mama in her little rented house on the edge of town doing the types of things you expect of a mother and daughter who have been estranged for thirteen or so years. We sat around telling stories about our lives. Well, no, it was a lot deeper than that. We were learning how to co-exist. Mama was learning how to deal with the responsibilities involved with being the mother of a teenage daughter and I was learning how to interact with a mother. Something I'd never had the opportunity to do before now. It was going pretty well. _

_Last weekend we went to the mall for some serious mother-daughter bonding time (apparently it's not serious bonding if shopping isn't involved). We had a great time picking out things for each other to try on. I deliberately picked out some outrageous outfits for myself – stuff I wouldn't normally touch with a ten foot pole – just to see how she'd react. I have to admit she did a lot better than some of my friend's mothers. Apparently mothers tend to get a bit irate if their teenage girls come out dressed in skanky, sequin covered, booty dresses and four inch heeled ankle boots. Mama handled my presentation with aplomb. _

_When I opened the door to the change room and stepped out with confidence and sass she barely blinked an eye. "It's a bit sparkly, isn't it?" she commented after a moment of critical analysis. "I mean," she'd paused here, tilting her head to the side. "It's not very practical."_

_At that I'd sent her a small smile. "Tell me what you really think," I'd prompted. "You're allowed to hate it."_

_She'd hissed out a breath between her teeth and shook her head. "I'm really not a fan."_

"_Good," I'd told her, nervously tugging on the hem. "I don't like it either. Too short."_

"_Too sparkly."_

"_Too impractical."_

"_Too not you."_

_We'd shared a smile at that before she pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against. "Stay there, I'll grab something else for you to try on."_

_So things with Mama were going quite well. She knew me well enough that she wasn't constantly second guessing herself with her actions like she had in first couple of weeks. She was confident enough in her knowledge of my eating habits that she could plan and prepare meals without having to consult me about what I would and wouldn't eat. Not that there's much I wouldn't eat. _

_Apparently, the fact that Mama could cook was a big deal. As a kind of house warming Mama had invited the Papa, Dad, Tiffany, and a few of the Lost Boys over for dinner and all of them, with the exception of Tiffany, had gone to inspect the kitchen to make sure she wasn't hiding take out containers or a chef or something after tasting her cooking._

_Speaking of Tiffany, she was now officially my future __step mom__... ish... What do you call the fiancée of one of your two male guardians when neither of them is biologically related to you? I don't know, and it doesn't really matter anyway since Tiff baulked at the first mention of the label. I'm under firm instructions to just call her Tiff. So that brought the tally of parental figures in my life up to four and aside from the fact that they were spread over four locations (for the time being, until Tiff's lease ends and then it'll be three) it was looking almost like a normal family with divorced parents that remarried. The figures were the same at least. I think that's where the similarities end. I don't think I'd survive with a normal family though._

_Speaking of normal, the guy that was causing all the problems? The same guy who was trying to kill Mama back when I was a baby? Yeah, he's far from normal. Apparently he had some kind of weird crush on Mama, and when I say weird I really mean it. He was under the impression that he was supposed to be with Mama or something. Like, he thought that by Mama having me she was cheating on him and he didn't take kindly to that. That's why he tried to kill her. As far as he was concerned if he couldn't have her, nobody could. He tried to kill her back then and when Diesel and Janelle helped Mama stage her death he saw it as a success. He went out celebrating after he heard the news and did some really stupid stuff that landed him in jail. Of course, he blamed Mama for that as well, so when he was finally released a few weeks ago he sought revenge on her, despite knowing that she was long dead. When he saw me at the mall with Dad that day he'd lost it. _

_So anyway, to cut a long story short, Mr. Killer Dude, whom I am not allowed to know the name of for some reason – I assume the same reason Papa didn't allow me to know everything about Mama all those years, he thought I was too young – was disposed of in an orderly fashion two days after Papa came home from hospital. Papa was a little bitter that he was not the one to 'dispose' of him, but he settled for knowing that his men would do the job well. I can only assume what was done to Mr. Killer Dude prior to his death, and knowing how protective the Lost Boys are of me and Mama, I'd say it was rather violent and torturous. But hey, what goes around comes around. He tortured and killed Mama, so I don't see why his treatment should be any different, even if Mama's death was only fake._

"Hey Antisocial," Tank called from the doorway of my bedroom at Mama's house distracting me from my laptop. "What are you doing up here all along, looking studious?"

I smiled up at him, hitting the save button without looking at the screen. "I just had some thoughts I needed to get out of my head," I told him closing the Word document and the laptop. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. A bunch of family is downstairs in the living room. I've got some news that you all need to hear."

The look on his face said it was serious, so I set the computer aside and followed him quietly downstairs. When we arrived at the entrance to the living room everyone inside stopped talking to look expectantly at Tank. I made my way across the room to the empty seat next to Mama and took up the same pose as everyone else, looking up at the big man, waiting for his news.

"Well what is it?" Papa demanded after a minute or so of utter silence. "We don't have all day."

Taking a deep breath, Tank just plunged right into the thick of it by blurting, "I know who Genny's father is."

There was a collective gasp as we all continued to stare at him. Mama grabbed my hand in hers like she needed some reassurance; I didn't protest, feeling the need myself. I couldn't see Papa from my position, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching for my reaction. I took a deep breath and met Tank's eyes. "Go on then," I said confidently, despite the fact that my heart rate had sped up to about a bazillion miles an hour. "I'm ready."

"Fucking hell," Dad breathed. "How the hell can you be ready? I'm not ready. Well, no. That's not true. I'm ready. Ready to run from the room that is. Do you have any idea how life altering this may be? Once you find out who your father is you're going to be curious about what kind of person he is and -."

"Shut up, Morelli," Tio Eloy said from the corner. "If you don't wanna hear it just leave now."

Mama had been watching everyone speak like she was at a tennis match, her head bobbing from side to side to follow the conversation. "How did you find out?" she simply asked when everyone was quiet again. "They wouldn't tell me when I rang up. They said they wouldn't even tell me if I went in in person and had photo ID."

"I started investigating a few weeks ago," Tank started. "Prompted by the news that you'd used a sperm bank in Ohio, I started calling around. I used the story that the information was pertinent to my investigation with Rangeman and most were happy to check up on what I was asking about."

"Wait," I interrupted. "That day I overheard you on the phone asking about donations Papa had made years ago. That's related to this, isn't it?"

He nodded his head. "There were a number questions I was trying to find an answer for. The first, of course is which sperm bank Steph used. The second, which sperm bank Ranger and a few of our friends had donated to during a crazy quest while on leave. And the third was who your father was. As it turns out, the sperm bank we donated to and the sperm bank Steph used are one and the same. Now came the tricky part. Getting the lovely receptionist ladies to release the information on which sperm donor Steph used over the phone. Eventually, I had to send an official letter with a photo copy of my Rangeman ID and the investigation report thus far. Once it was received I had to wait for them to check my credentials and also check the records. They got back to me this morning."

"Well?" Mama and I asked in unison, further proving how similar we are.

"Who's the father?" Dad asked impatiently.

"He's of Cuban descent, has dark brown hair, brown eyes and is approximately five foot ten," Tank stated. "And he's standing in this room." Without exception, each and every set of eyes swung to Papa. It was the obvious choice. "And it's not Ric," Tank added.

I snapped my head around to stare at him. "What do you mean it's not Papa?" I demanded. "Who else could it be?"

Tank looked me straight in the eye and stated calmly. "The name of your biological father is Eloy Manoso." In the moment following his statement, there was a loud thunk from the corner. I looked over to see Tio Eloy had fallen into a dead faint, hitting his head on Mama's end table.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Dad yelled breaking the quiet. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Tank shook his head solemnly from side to side. "I have all the official documents right here." He held up a manila folder he'd been carrying. "The facts don't lie. I even got a paternity test done. Eloy really is the father."

Everyone was silent for another moment, clearly processing this information. I know I was. I mean. Think of what this meant for my already messed up life! Tio Eloy is my father? It's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard!

"So let me get this straight," I started, amazed at how calm I sounded. "Tio Eloy. My uncle. Is my biological father?" Tank gave a tight nod. "So that makes Papa, the man who's always been my father figure, my uncle?" Another tight nod. I let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical, even to my own ears. "Well slap my thigh and call me Bubba. What's next? Is Mama really me sister?" I couldn't get anymore words out as the laughter overtook my ability to speak. The situation was just too surreal. It was like something out of Maury Povich or Dr. Phil or some other hideous day time talk show. I couldn't believe it.

As I gripped my aching sides, I caught a glimpse of Papa agitatedly turning pages in the folder Tank had mentioned. His face was not a blank mask as I'd expected it might be, instead it was set in a grim, angry line. "He's right," Papa gritted. "He's bloody right." Shoving the folder away from him in disgust, he turned and promptly kicked Tio Eloy... _my father_ in the side.

Tio Eloy... _Papa_ Eloy? Made no reaction, so Papa... or, um... Tio Papa? Kicked him again. And again. And again. Until Dad and Morelli pulled him away and out of the house to cool down.

I realised I was still laughing when I turned to a shocked looking Mama and stated almost merrily, "I'm going to need sooo much therapy, aren't I?"

* * *

><p><em>Please send in a review and let me know what you think. I'm also open to suggestions of alternative scenes you might like to see.<em>


	2. Thut Ub

_So this is yet another chapter that I was sooooooo tempted to actually put in, however, the one that actually went in suited the feel of the story better. So this is the chapter right after Diesel reveals that the cause of Steph'd death was poison not a brain tumor. Enjoy. Also, I'm on prac at the moment. Teaching in schools for the first time (eek!) so I may not be able to update anything for a while._

**Alternative Chapter 31: Thut ub!**

Everything was deathly silent for a moment as the words sunk in. I travelled my gaze around the room, not sure where to look or what to think. My mother had been poisoned. Slowly poisoned to death. I looked to Auntie Mare, Mama's best friend. She was looking much more sober than she had a few minutes ago. There were tears in her eyes, like she was mourning Mama's death anew. It made me think about my grandparents. They didn't know the truth about their own daughter's death after so many years. They'd been lied to, just like the rest of us. It wasn't fair.

Continuing around the table I noted Tio Eloy, still passed out with his head on the table after his mild freak out regarding the information about Mama's sperm donor. There was a wet patch on the table cloth from his drool and red stain next to it from his spilled wine. Next to Tio Eloy was Diesel, standing with his arms crossed, staring at the ground. Bobby and Lester were on his other side, both staring at me with sad, sympathetic eyes. I felt sure that if they could have helped it, I would not have heard that information. I would have gone through life believing that my mother had died of an inoperable brain tumour, not the poison of another human being's hatred.

I was glad they hadn't prevented me finding out. Knowing the truth, while it didn't bring my mother back, got me a step closer to knowing who Stephanie Plum was when she died. The fact that she and her support system at the time had fabricated the story that she'd died of a brain tumour and the story had gotten past Papa's radar and held fast for the past fourteen years was incredible.

Giving Bobby and Lester a reassuring smile to let them know I was alright, I looked to Tank. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, hands flat on the table, staring intently at Papa. When he felt my eyes on him he through a glance my way.

"Move away from the table," he said sternly, eyes locked on Papa once more. "The further away the better."

Slightly alarmed now, I turned to Papa, but my loving, caring Papa wasn't there. In his place was a hulk of a man, quivering with pent up anger and resentment. His face was schooled in his trademark blank stare, but I could see the hatred shooting through his eyes, directed straight at Diesel. If looks could kill Diesel would have been nothing but a pile of ashes on the dining room floor. Papa's fists were clenched at his sides in an effort to restrain himself. I watched a muscle tick in his jaw as he clenched it tight.

I was frozen. Couldn't move. I knew I should get out of the way. Knew that if he were to start a brawl right here and now I'd be in the middle of it. And as surely as I knew that Papa would never intentionally hurt me, I knew that in the state he was currently in, the likelihood of him accidentally hurting me was pretty high.

There was a crushing pressure in my chest as I continued to stare stupidly at the man who was my guardian, but wasn't.

Slowly, he got to his feet, pushing the chair back with his foot until it hit the wall behind him. His eyes flickered for a moment and jumped to my face. For one brief, almost missed moment, he was Papa again. But then it was gone.

"Get out of the way, Magenta," he said calmly, clenching and unclenching his fists at irregular intervals. Another second passed and I still couldn't find my feet. "NOW!" he yelled suddenly.

That was all it took.

All at once, I was cowering in the corner closest to Auntie Mare. She moved her chair back to provide a layer of protection in case things went haywire. She was still sitting in the chair. I craned my neck to see what was happening beyond her and was confronted by the sight Papa lunging across the table at Diesel, his hands outstretched and claw-like, as if he intended strangle him. As I watched wide eyed and disbelieving though his upper thigh caught on the edge of the table and his face slammed down onto the white cloth. There was a sickening crack and a groan and Papa slumped against the table.

I was still processing what had just happened when the tense silence in the room was broken by barking laughter. I jerked my gaze away from Papa's still form to see where the sound came from. Diesel was doubled over, holding his sides as his guffaws filled the air. Nearby, Tank and Lester were chuckling, as was Bobby, though his laughter was far less joyful as he helped Papa stand. I gasped as I caught sight of the damage. There was so much blood. It was running in rivulets down his face from his nose. It had to be broken. Oh Gosh.

"Papa," I said faintly as he looked down at the blood covering his hands. I crawled slowly out from behind the chair and made my way toward him. "Papa?"

At the sound of my voice, or perhaps he caught my movement, his head shot up and he started at me. "I'b otay," he told me and I stopped dead in my tracks. The blood from a distance was almost too much for me to handle, up close and combined with the factor of his suddenly strange voice, I couldn't take it anymore. "Gen?" he said, taking a step toward me.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked me, laying a hand on my shoulder as I rocked forward a little. I was feeling rather faint all of a sudden.

!

The waves that were crashing against the inside of my skull slowly receded as I became aware of murmuring voices somewhere nearby. I couldn't focus on them enough to decide genders, and I couldn't concentrate enough to make out words. It was like listening to the radio when you haven't quite got the station right... one of the old school radios that Papa insists on using sometimes despite the perfectly good digital tuner ones sitting in their boxes, but I digress. As I tried to listen to the conversation I thought I was hearing, though, the waves came back with a vengeance. I could feel them crashing over me, like I was at the beach being sucked into a rip. I tried swimming for the surface but couldn't figure out which way was up. The roaring in my ears had silenced everything except my whirring thoughts. The weight of the ocean pressing in on me prevented me from opening my eyes.

I was drowning in my own subconscious. What a way to die.

Suddenly, like the blinding light from a beacon, a voice cut through the haze of sound. They were calling my name. I think. Maybe it was just that the voice was so loud I _thought_ it was calling me name. They could have been ordering from a Taco Bell menu for all I cared. It was a voice and it was leading me to the waking world. Through the waves and seaweed. I breached the surface and gasped in a breath of air that went right down to my belly. A belly, I now realised, that was rolling violently, almost like it was battling it's own set of waves.

I quickly leaned over the side of the couch I was lying on to avoid covering myself in vomit as it rose out of me like lava from a volcano.

"Gross!" said a shrill voice above me as I dry heaved over the edge. "That's disgusting! I van't believe you did that. These are my favourite shoes. Do you know how long it took me to break these shoes in? A really long time. I've had these shoes longer than you've been alive and they were only just reaching an acceptable level of broken-in-ness last week. I can't believe you did that!"

Finally able to breathe normally again, I leaned back against the cushions of the couch and looked up, searching for a face to match the voice. I'd expected to find Auntie Mare, her hands held out away from her body just thinking about having to touch her vomit covered shoes. What I found, thought, was Diesel, his face contorted in disgust as he stared down as his feet.

It took me a minute to realise that the room was filled with laughter, at which point I sought out Papa. He should be here. I didn't find him though. The closest I got was Tank, laughing heartily at the spectacle that was Diesel.

"So you can handle being deprived of air," he chuckled after calming down a bit. "You were prepared to face Ranger's fury and possible die, butt a little bit of girl vomit has you practically voiding your Man Card? That's rich. Does your wife know you're like this?"

"Shut up," Diesel grumbled, toeing off his shoes and carefully stepping away from my vomit.

Auntie Mare – the strong stomached mother that she is, knelt next to the couch, careful to avoid the splattered chunks, and began scooping the vomit into an ice cream bucket. WITH HER BARE HANDS!

I couldn't watch. The smell alone was almost too much for me. I turned my face into the back of the couch and breathed in the non-existent dust motes in an attempt to escape the smell until a tand tapped me on the shoulder. Tio Eloy was holding a glass of water out for me, deliberately not looking in the direction of my half digested dinner. He was looking a little green around the gills, and I can't say I blamed him. I would have rather been anywhere else in the world right now if it meant I didn't have a nose full of disgusting.

"Where's Papa?" I asked, trying to distract myself. "Is he alright?"

"Ranger's fine," Tank assured me, coming around the couch and laying the back of his hand on my forehead. "Bobby took him down to the infirmary to check him out. Lester went with them to hold him down if he decided he didn't need pain killers. How do you feel?"

"Gross," I admitted. "I need a shower and to brush my teeth. But I need to know Papa's alright."

"Your Papa's a big man, I'm sure he's fine," Tank said. "Why don't you go have a shower and get into some clean clothes? When you're out we'll call down to the control room and see how things are progressing."

I nodded my agreement, but I was really thinking of ways I could sneak past his watch and go down to the gym to see for myself that he was alright. Tank released me and I crawled to the other end of the couch to climb over the arm there and avoid the possibility of vomit-ifying my foot. When I reached the end, though, I found myself lifted from the cushions and carried, as if I weighed no more than a baby, to the doorway that led to the hall.

I went into my bedroom and retrieved a pair of cut-off sweats, a baggy eighties style t-shirt that was only meant to cover one should and some clean underwear, then headed into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and shoved my hair, which by now was completely out of control, into a haphazard ponytail on the top of my head. I turned the shower on but didn't get undressed or step under the spray. As much as I didn't want to sound like a needy little snot nosed child, right now, the thing I needed most was my papa. I could have a million showers and still wouldn't feel any better as long as Papa was several floor below me, probably being injected with all kinds of needles and other scary things.

The beauty of my and Papa's apartment is, while it's not circular by any stretch of the imagination, there is an inner 'circle' and an outer 'circle'. In the middle was the living room with a hallyway surrounding it on all four sides, while the outer circle consisted of the front door followed in a clockwise direction by the kitchen and dining room. On the back wall was Papa's bedroom. And on the fourth wall was Papa's office. The office only took up about half of the side, with the rest cut out from the other side to provide the foyer.

You could walk all the way around the outside of the living room without being stopped by a wall or a door. The detail that made my escape so possible though, was that there were only two entrances to the living room. One was on the kitchen side, opening between the kitchen and dining room doorways, the other was on the side of bedroom and opened pretty much directly across from the laundry room door. This meant that I could walk from the bathroom to the front door without being seen, provided no one was in the hall or sticking their head out of a doorway.

A quick peek between the door and the jamb showed that no one was standing guard in the hall or in the entrance way to the living room, so I quietly eased to the door open enough to slip out, pushed it closed again without even making the tell-tale clicking noise it makes when the lock snatches, and tiptoed down the hall toward the front door. I snuck a look around the corner into the kitchen hallway to be certain no one was keeping an eye out from that side, and slithered out the front door the same way I had the bathroom.

I couldn't risk the BING the elevator would make if I used it, so quickly and quietly moved to the stairs, hurrying down them until I reached the landing of the fourth floor. I steeled a deep breath before pushing through into the main hall of the floor.

Completely deserted.

I crossed the hall and entered what I thought of as sick bay, where all the little cots were laid out at even intervals ready for the sick and injured. It reminded me a lot of the nurses office at school, only there were more beds. I guess since we tended to have guys being shot at the likelihood of people being injured was higher and if you had the amount of people we had that go out and provoke bad guys every day you'd probably understand the need for so many beds as well.

The area was completely empty. Not a sickie or a gimpy in sight, but I could hear some grunting and talking coming from behind one of the doors. I knew that one of the doors lead to Bobby's office and two more lead to exam rooms, but I'd never been in the fourth door. I assumed it was a store room or something. He had to keep medical supplies somewhere, right? But as I got closer to it, it seemed like the voices were coming from within.

I paused beside the door, listening intently.

"Come on, Ranger," Lester was saying, sounding like he was trying to hold back laughter. "Just let him give you the shot and you'll feel so much better"

"I don't want the thot," came Papa's nasally voice followed promptly by Lester's laughter. "Thut ub!"

"Sorry, Boss," Lester replied thickly. "It's just too funny. I swear if you keep up the lisping I'm going to buy you a pink shirt and take you to a gay bar."

I stifled a giggle at the thought of Papa in a pink shirt. Now that I could hear Papa wasn't dead I was feeling a lot easier about it. I listened for a little longer and almost found myself having to stifle a laugh at how funny Papa sounded with a lisp. I remember he would do all the voices when he was reading picture books to me when I was little, but that was just making his voice higher or lower depending on the gender and age. He'd never done a lisp before. Lester would often put on a lisp if he was making fun of people, but it didn't seem weird when he did it. On Papa it was the most hilarious thing in the world.

"Keep that thing away from me," I heard Papa warn someone. I assumed it was Bobby, since he was the medic and all. "Thtab me with that and you'll withh you were never born. I'll thlam you fathe into the matth tho hard you won't know what hit you."

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up inside me.

"Thatth Gen," came Papa's almost stunned voice. "Gen get in here!"

The door opened and Lester grabbed me by the arm, pulling me into the room and setting me on the exam table next to Papa who immediately wrapped his arm around me. I looked up at his face, relieved to find that the blood had been washed off his face, there were, however, wads of tissue sticking out of his nostrils. As a result his mouth hung slightly open making him look a little stupid.

"How's your face?" I asked him, smirking a little.

"It'th fine," he said, brushing a stray curl out of my face. "I've been trying to convinthe Bobby I don't need a pain thot. How are you feeling?"

"A bit groth," I admitted with a grin, making fun of him at the same time. "I need a thower." Papa narrowed his eyes at me, but he was smiling a little. "Is it broken?" I asked.

"Yeth," he answered, rolling his eyes. "But I don't need a pain- OW!" Suddenly, he turned on Bobby who was holding a now empty syringe. "Brown!"

Bobby sent us a quick grin, deposited the syringe in the waste box attached to the wall and started sidling toward the door. "It may make you a little drowsy or loopy," he said, "But it'll help." With that, both he and Lester raced out of the room and a moment later we heard the stairwell door slam closed behind them.

I looked back at Papa, a small smile playing at my lips. "Let me guess," I said. "He'th tho dead?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Watch your mouth."

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think. <em>


End file.
